


little omega

by LadyMerlin



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Biology is (not) an excuse, Don't copy to another site, Explicit Sexual Content, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Orgasms, Omega!Ed, Overstimulation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sexual Violence, Underage Rape/Non-con, alpha!roy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 10:44:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19227580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMerlin/pseuds/LadyMerlin
Summary: He opens his mouth to scream, but all that emerges is a moan so broken that Ed almost doesn't recognize his own voice.(“You know,” Mustang whispers into his ear, “you could enjoy this too. You were made for it, after all.”)Withartby the incredibleKotosk!





	little omega

**Author's Note:**

> I've written dub-con stuff before, but this is bar- _none_ the most non-consensual thing I've ever written. Some fics make you feel like you need to apologise to your mom. This is like that, except you need a bucket of holy water and some bleach to cleanse _these_ sins. 
> 
> Background: In this ABO 'verse, alphas in heat become feral and lose any semblance of self-control. Unfortunately, Ed wanders into feral!Mustang's home, and Mustang just takes what he wants - what he's always wanted. Mustang's a slave to biology etc. but that doesn't make it any less non-consensual, even when Ed's yet-unpresented Omega starts reacting. 
> 
> Please mind the tags and the warnings. I'm not joking; be kind to yourselves.
> 
> Peppa, DO NOT READ THIS.

“You shouldn’t have come here, Edward,” comes a low voice from behind him.

Some part of Ed’s brain recognizes Mustang’s voice, but he’s never heard this particular tone before, darkly delighted, and radiating with keen intent. He only gets as far as wondering what kind of intent it is, before he processes the _words_ Mustang is saying. A voice in the back of his head tells him to run, but he only gets one step away before he realises that it’s too late; that Mustang’s too close to him. 

On a good day, Ed could _probably_ have fended Mustang off. But wandering around Mustang’s house like an _idiot_ has lost him the element of surprise and Mustang had turned the tables so completely that _Ed_ was left entirely defenceless, with his back to an unknown entity, in Mustang’s own territory.

Well, on a good day, Mustang wouldn’t have _been_ an unknown entity, but now that Ed’s paying attention, he can smell alpha musk thick in the air, dulling his senses and leaving him vulnerable to attack. He wants to turn around, but making eye-contact with Mustang is probably a bad idea. The hairs standing on the back of his neck tell him everything he needs to know about Mustang right now.

_Oh god. What do they say about dealing with feral alphas - don’t make any sudden moves?_

Ed’s known Mustang for eight years now, a little under half his life, and although he’s always known intellectually that Mustang is an alpha, it’s never occurred to him what that _means._ He’s never seen Mustang during a heat before. He can’t believe he’d been so stupid as to wander uninvited into a feral alpha’s lair. Edward is strong, but Mustang is now the biggest threat in the room.

Ed clamps down hard on his instincts and puts up his hands in surrender, even though it stings. Even he knows better than to challenge a feral alpha, though there’s a big difference between knowledge and experience.

“Oh my dear,” Mustang’s voice comes, suddenly closer than it had been before, so close that Ed can feel his warm breath on the back of his neck, making him flinch. “It’s too late for that now. I don’t think I’m going to be able to let you go…” Mustang is so close that he’s whispering directly into Ed’s ear, lips brushing his skin and setting off alarm bells inside his head.

“Mustang, come on. You don’t want to do this. If you hurt me, you’ll get into all sorts of trouble. Al knows I’m here, you know. And Hawkeye, too.” That’s a lie, of course, because as previously established, Ed’s an idiot who doesn’t tell people where he’s going. No one knows he’s here, and he has no reason to be. No one will be looking for him.

Mustang’s hand slides down his hair, easing the rubber band off from the end of his braid, and Ed shivers for an entirely different reason. No one but Al or his mom have ever touched his hair. “My dear, who said anything about hurting you? By the time I’m done with you, you’ll never want to leave. And no one would blame me. After all, I’m just keeping you safe, here, with me. What else was I supposed to do when a sweet, unmated omega wandered into my den?”

Ed freezes. “Who said I was an omega?” he asks, because he certainly hasn’t told anyone his suspicions, not even Al. He hasn’t even had his first heat yet.

Mustang laughs again, and the sound sends shivers down Ed’s spine. He can feel Mustang stroking his hair softly and then nosing the back of his head, breathing him in deep. “Little omega,” he says, and Ed wants to _hate_ it, how _dare_ the man refer to him by his secondary gender, like his name doesn’t even matter, but… “Little omega, I can _smell_ you.”

He kisses the side of Ed’s neck softly and his arms come to rest on Ed’s hips as he steps in close, an expanse of heat against Ed’s back. Ed jabs his elbows backwards, trying to make contact somewhere that hurts, but Mustang just pins Ed’s arms with his own, fending him off easily and pressing even closer as a result. Ed can feel a bump pressing against his lower back, interrupting Mustang’s flat profile, and he swallows reflexively, tugging at Mustang’s unyielding grip. “Now, little Edward, do you want to do this the easy way, or the hard way?”

And _that_ is when Ed makes his second mistake; the front door is just within his line of sight, so he stomps _hard_ on Mustang’s foot and makes a break for it.

Though he’s loathe to admit it, he’s smaller than Mustang, and faster. _He should have been able to make it_ , is his last thought before an iron grip catches on the back of his jacket and he feels himself falling forward. He hits the ground before he’s even able to bring his hands up to catch himself, and the next thing he knows is Mustang is straddling his hips, pinning him to the floor.

“What the _fuck_ , Mustang?!” Ed snarls, frantically trying to wriggle out from between Mustang’s legs. Thoughts race through his mind lightning-quick and begin to take the shape of a transmutation circle, so Ed moves to clap his hands to the ground, praying that he blows them both sky high, so he never has to talk - or even _think_ \- about this ever again.

Mustang, the _bastard_ , just clicks his tongue condescendingly, and grabs Ed’s hands midair, wrenching them back so hard that Ed can feel his spine curving backwards like a bow, making him yelp in pain. “My dear,” he croons, and Ed is really beginning to hate that tone of voice, “you’re not going to get away that easily.”

Mustang loosens his grip on Ed’s hands so that he’s not bent quite so painfully, and Ed considers making another break for it, to see if he could get out of Mustang’s hold. And then he stops himself. What would Al do, if he were in this position? Apart from turning his puppy-dog eyes at Mustang like a laser beam, he’d think carefully _before_ he made any more moves.

Even if Ed gets his hands free, he’s still going to be pinned beneath Mustang’s fat ass. He’s going to have to wait for a better opportunity, though he worries about his chances if they get any further from the front door.

Mustang seems to sense his hesitation and leans down until he’s so close that Ed can feel his breath again. He smells like… He doesn’t smell like anything except alpha pheromones, and something about that is beginning to get to Ed, deep inside his gut somewhere. _Oh great_ , he thinks. Not only will he be fending off a feral alpha, he’ll be fighting against his own biology as well.

“Are you done fighting, Edward?” Mustang asks, seemingly reading his mind, and his voice does that thing again, where it goes so low Ed thinks he can almost feel it rumbling through his chest. Something inside him trills in response and he clamps down on it, _hard_. “Are you going to behave?”

The words set Ed off, and despite his original intention of staying still until another opportunity for escape presents itself, his temper flares and he bucks his hips, _hard_ , squirming to dislodge Mustang’s weight, but to no avail. Mustang doesn’t even budge, with his knees planted securely on the ground on either side of Ed’s chest, his thighs clamped around Ed’s waist.

Mustang heaves a put-upon sigh but doesn’t comment. Behind his head, Ed can hear something tearing, like cloth or fabric, but when he turns to look Mustang presses a hand between his shoulder blades and pushes him down, until his chest is flat against the wooden floor. His cheek is pressed against the wooden floor, and Ed can’t remember the last time he’d been so easily incapacitated in a fight.

It doesn’t take long for Mustang to wrestle his jacket off and wind the strip of cloth around Ed’s wrists, almost professionally tight. Ed sees his chances of escape dwindling, the distance between himself and freedom stretching further and further. To struggle is instinctive, but it does him no good; Mustang is just bigger and stronger than him. Ed’s efforts seem to do nothing but amuse him.

“What do you want from me, Mustang?” Ed demands, once he’s exhausted himself, trying to break free from his bonds. His flesh shoulder is going numb and it’s getting harder to breathe from how thickly scented the room is, and the weight of Mustang’s body keeping him down.

“Clothes on or off?” Mustang asks instead, ignoring Ed’s question. Ed bites his tongue. He’s not going to participate in this. Answering either way would make it sound like he’s consenting to this, and he’s not, no matter what the bubbles in his stomach feel like. It’s getting harder to distinguish between anticipation and fear.

“Well, I suppose this wouldn’t have been nearly as fun if you hadn’t fought back,” Mustang says, apparently unaffected by Ed’s reticence. The next thing he knows, Mustang is tearing his shirt off with his bare hands. In some distant corner of his mind, Ed nonsensically thinks this is something that only happens in Al’s romance novels… He’s never going to be able to read one of those again.

His boots and trousers follow suit, until Ed is entirely naked on the ground, sweating from his struggles, from how sultry the room has become. “I really am very lucky,” Mustang says, stroking a line down from Ed’s ruined shoulder to his ass, squeezing his flesh firmly. Ed wants to flinch away, but there’s nowhere to go, no escape.

“I don’t understand, Mustang,” Ed tries again; desperate to delay what’s beginning to look inevitable. “You don’t even _like_ me!”

Behind him he hears a rustle of clothes; Mustang is getting undressed, and he wants to turn, wants to see what exactly he’s up against, but he’s bound tight, and his thighs are trembling with tension. If he moves so much as a muscle, Mustang is going to shove him down, so he stays still. Fighting won’t please the alpha, even if it pleases Mustang.

“You’re mistaken, Edward. I do like you. Very much, in fact. But you’re my subordinate. Even when I want to put you over my knee and spank you until you cry, you’re off limits.”

“Then why are you doing this!” Ed demands, and even his voice is shaking, “You’re a colonel! You could have anyone you wanted! Why are you doing this to _me_?” By the end of the sentence, his demand has turned into a plea, more shaky than Ed will ever admit.

“Ah,” Mustang replies, voice soft all of a sudden. “Here, I’m not a colonel, Edward, and you’re not my subordinate. Here, in my den, I’m just an alpha, and I want _you_.”

Mustang’s voice is sizzling with lust, and for the first time, Ed realises that he’s going to lose this fight. He’d been holding out hope for a miracle, that someone would interrupt, that Mustang’s sensibilities would intervene, that the sky might crack open and the Dwarf in the Flask itself would appear to stop this from happening, but he’s not going to be that lucky. Not this time.

A finger slides between his cheeks and into him, making him grunt. Mustang pushes his finger as deep as it can go before pulling it back. “Very good, Edward. You’re already getting wet,” he says, and Ed wants to snarl, wants to protest and deny it, but he can feel it too.

Slick is spilling out of him and trickling down the insides of his thighs, and it’s _maddening_. Objectively he knows omegas produce their own lubrication, but he’s never - this has never happened to him before. Once he gets out of this, he’s going to carve out his own traitorous organs with a rusty blade. If he bleeds to death in the process, so be it.

“Do you know how this works?” Mustang asks, sliding two fingers into him, almost conversationally.

Ed opens his mouth to shout that he’s not a child! But he realises just how counterproductive that would be, before the words escape him. The twist of Mustang’s fingers is strange inside him, but not painful. He can almost feel himself stretching to accommodate. “No,” he replies sullenly, when he notices that the silence has dragged out while he’d been distracted. Mustang has been waiting for an answer.

“I’m going to knot you, Edward. That means I’m going to put my cock inside you, as deep as it can go, and tie us together for as long as it takes for me to breed you.” There’s something about the coarse words uttered with Mustang’s polished accent that makes Ed feel like he’s losing his grip on reality, like maybe this isn’t happening to him but to someone else.

Mustang doesn’t swear, right? He’s too much of a fancy bastard. But fancy bastards don’t do this, what Mustang is doing to him - right? Maybe this is just a huge joke, some sort of prank. Maybe he’s being hazed, and any minute now everyone’s going to pop out and surprise them. Maybe Mustang is just waiting for Ed to call his bluff. Some part of Ed wishes Mustang would just get on with it and fuck him already, just to put an end to the nauseating whirlwind of his thoughts.

“The question is whether you want me to do it here or whether you want to do it upstairs, on the bed. It makes no difference to me, but since we’re going to be at it for a while, I thought I’d ask for your thoughts on the matter.”

He doesn’t want Mustang to do it at all, but saying so would probably be a waste of words. This is happening. Ed has never been very good at resigning himself to things, but the situation is different now that he’s buck naked on the floor with his hands tied behind his back. “Bed,” he says finally. It’ll be easier on his knees than the wooden floor. Maybe he’ll even be able to walk, after.

“Good choice,” Mustang says. _Hah_ , what a joke. Ed doesn’t _have_ a choice. Mustang gets up and pulls Ed up with him, keeping Ed in front of him at all times. As Mustang turns them towards the staircase leading to the second floor, Ed catches a glimpse of the front door in the corner of his eye. He tries to yank his arms out of Mustang’s grip so he can keep looking at the door, as if it’ll give him the answers to all his problems, but Mustang just captures him again, holding him even tighter. The door is out of his line of sight before he knows it, and Mustang is frog marching him up the stairs and into a bedroom.

Ed doesn’t manage to get a good look at the room before Mustang pushes him face first onto the bed. He catches glimpses of dark blues and greys and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves; it’s the kind of bedroom Ed had only dreamt of as a child.

Mustang crawls on top of him until his hands are on either side of Ed’s head, weight making the mattress dip beneath him. Something drips onto the small of Ed’s back and he knows instinctively that’s Mustang’s cock. Ed isn’t one to bury his head in the sand, but there’s a sudden, sharp relief in his chest, that he can’t see it. He doesn’t want to know what Mustang’s going to put inside him. He feels his thighs squeezing shut, as if that’ll make any difference.

“You know,” Mustang whispers into his ear, “you could enjoy this too. You were made for it, after all.”

The thought of being reduced to his secondary gender is at once repulsive and incendiary. He’s heard the same stories everyone else has, about how omegas are built for pleasure, about how this act is supposed to be even more rapturous for the omega than it is for the alpha. But he doubts it. His heart is pounding like a drum and he knows he stinks of fear.

He thinks about the Mustang who’d told him once that he shouldn’t be afraid of the future because he wasn’t alone, and the Mustang who’d put his own life and reputation on the line to rescue his subordinates. That’s not this Mustang.

“You’re going to regret this tomorrow,” Ed says, quietly. It’s almost certainly true. Everyone has thoughts. Even if Mustang is telling the truth about having thought about Ed this way, what sets him apart is that he’d never have acted on his desires like this. Not if he’d been in his right mind.

“Oh,” Mustang replies blithely, “I know. I’m going to hate myself, and only god knows what I’ll do to make up for it, but Edward, please don’t misunderstand. I don’t regret anything that’s happening right now. I would not have done this otherwise, but everything I do, I do because I want to.” His hand slides down to trace along the seam of Ed’s automail where it joins his thigh, where the skin is most sensitive, making Ed hiss as his nerves spark and catch fire. “So the question is, how well do you really know your Colonel, Edward?”

Ed doesn’t answer, because he doesn’t know the answer and because Mustang is mouthing wetly at the nape of his neck and he can’t tell whether he wants to bare his neck or shudder away in revulsion.

“Up,” Mustang commands a few seconds later, like Ed’s some sort of dog. “Get up, Edward.” Ed obeys, because at this point he’s probably worse than a dog. Even Den had more dignity. Mustang slides two pillows underneath his hips and pushes him down again. In his minds’ eye, Ed can only imagine how he looks, with his ass presented up in the air for Mustang’s pleasure, bound arms at just the right height for Mustang to use as a pivot. He squeezes his eyes shut, as if that’ll help erase the picture in his mind.

At least the pillows feel alright against his stiffening cock. He’s long since stopped trying to will his erection away. What’s one more humiliation in the face of what’s going to happen?

Mustang slides his fingers into Ed’s ass again, but this time the angle is different, and when Mustang curls his fingers, Ed has to bite his tongue against the whine that threatens to escape. His lower body throbs in response to Mustang’s movements. “If you’re trying to pretend that you’re not affected by this, you shouldn’t bother, Edward. By the time we’re done, the neighbours are going to be banging down the doors.” A flickering spark of hope rises briefly inside Ed’s chest before Mustang chuckles darkly. “Well, they would be, if I had neighbours. Would it be trite for me to assure you that here, no one can hear you scream?”

Mustang rises to his knees and pushes his fingers even deeper into Ed, until it feels like he’s reaching straight into his gut, like Ed’s sticking his fingers into an electric socket but in reverse, and the socket is inside him. Mustang hums consideringly. “I think you’re ready, don’t you?” he asks and when he pulls his fingers out, Ed can hear them squelching wetly. He swallows down the urge to vomit when he realises that his cock is entirely stiff, reacting to the sensations and noises Mustang is drawing out of his body.

Mustang doesn’t wait for an answer, because it’s probably clear that Ed isn’t going to give one. Something thick and hard slides between his cheeks, drags along his taint and catches at his hole, teasing but firm; unyielding. Ed's cock pulses and a gush of sticky fluid soaks into the pillow beneath his hips, and the smell of it mixes with the smell of alpha filling Ed’s nose. "Good boy," Mustang murmurs, "you're such a good boy, aren't you? I'll make it good for you, I promise," he says, and then he feeds his cock into Ed, one relentless inch at a time.

The sensation of being invaded builds in intensity until Ed’s gritting his teeth, forcing himself to take deep breaths. “You can be as loud as you like, little omega.”

Ed won’t. He won’t give Mustang that satisfaction.

Mustang is almost too big to comprehend, and Ed doesn't want to, but he can't help squeezing around the intrusion until it feels like his inner walls are molding around the shape of Mustang's cock. It feels like Mustang's hardness is cleaving Ed in two. He's slow and it takes forever, but eventually he stops and Ed thinks he's finally bottomed out, by which time Ed is breathing hard. Mustang is so deep inside Ed that it feels like he's been impaled; like a butterfly pinned to a bit of card, like if he tried to move, he'd have to leave his guts behind.

He can feel something pressing against his ass, and he wonders if he's feeling Mustang's hips against his own. "Good boy," Mustang croons, stroking his hip, "you're doing so well. The next part will be the hardest, but after that we're gold, alright?"

"What?" Ed manages to pant, his own hormones and Mustang’s pheromones working in tandem to confuse him. _What next part?_

"Shhh," Mustang hushes him, "now you just have to take my knot. You'll like it, I promise. The harder you struggle, the worse it’ll be. I've heard it's like being broken into pieces and then remade anew. Of course, I wouldn't know. Either way, I'll take care of you, little omega."

And then he's pressing down on Ed and Ed can’t help but cry out. The pressure is immense. His cock is leaking steadily now, a leaky-faucet-drip of pre-come.

His ass is just as wet, but it doesn't seem to be helping, and the pressure keeps building and building until it feels like all of Mustang's weight is bearing down on him at that one point, until he thinks he really is going to break, because whatever Mustang’s trying to put in him is _not_ going to fit. It can’t, Ed’s body isn’t capable of taking it.

Just when he thinks he can't bear it anymore, when he’s about to open his mouth and beg Mustang to stop, his knot pops into him, and his body _screams_ in protest. It hurts like he's been impaled, like he's dying or worse, like he's going to rend to shreds or like his hips are going to break. He opens his mouth to scream, but all that emerges is a moan so broken that Ed almost doesn't recognize his own voice.

Mustang shushes him, drawing long lines down his back, massaging at his tight shoulders. Ed can hear himself, as if he’s just watching this from a distance, and his cries sound so pitiful that for a brief second, he hates himself, but he can't help it. Mustang unties his hands and it just rubs salt in the open wound; he couldn't make a basic circle to save his life. Mustang was right; it does feel like he's being remade, like all his insides are breaking apart and recombining to accommodate the intrusion.

His mind is a blank.

And then Mustang's grip solidifies on his shoulders and before Ed can gather his sluggish thoughts, Mustang is rolling his hips against him, changing the angle of his cock until it presses against something that feels like a live wire, and Ed wants to scream, to release some of the pressure building up inside him. But there's nothing left, he's just a shell for Mustang's passions now, connected to his body by a lingering thread of awareness.

Mustang hoists him up, dragging him up until he's sitting in Mustang's lap, kept upright only by Mustang's hard cock inside him, like he's a grotesque puppet-master and Ed is nothing but his doll. Ed feels his jaw drop, desperately trying to drag air into his lungs, but it keeps sticking in his throat, along with his tongue.

Mustang nibbles at his shoulder gently and his hands come around to rest on Ed's stomach. "Look, Edward," he whispers into Ed's ear, fingertips pressing against his abdomen. "I think I can see myself inside you."

Ed grits his teeth and refuses to look, even though there’s a sick sense of curiosity rising at the back of his throat, a surge of sensation so intense it’s almost dizzying. Mustang’s fingers grip his jaw and force his gaze downwards to his own stomach, and he can’t see anything at all, but he can’t help imagining it, Mustang’s cock inside him, like a battering ram.

And that’s not to mention; Ed’s cock, standing almost painfully upright, flushed dark red, and leaking steadily from the tip. The back of Mustang’s hand brushes it while he probes at Ed’s stomach, and Ed jumps, muscles clenching in reaction, cock twitching in the cold air. Mustang stills. “Now, that’s a pretty sight,” he mouths the words into Ed’s shoulder, and Ed can’t quite suppress a shudder.

Mustang gently wraps his fingers around Ed’s cock and squeezes, ever so slightly. Ed exhales sharply at the sensation. “My goodness,” Mustang says, and thumbs at the tip of his cock, swiping away a bead of clear fluid. Ed flinches, and he knows he’s giving away his weaknesses but there’s no hiding this, his reactions are too raw to disguise.

Mustang does it again and Ed squirms away from the touch, whining helplessly. This has the unfortunate consequence of forcing Mustang’s knot against his live-wire spot, and he can’t tell whether the rush of heat surging through him is pleasure or agony.

“Shh,” Mustang says, though Ed isn’t sure if he’s actually trying to soothe him or shut him up. He wraps his hand around Ed’s cock again and begins to stroke, and the steady confident pace drives Ed up a crest quicker than he ever thought possible; every subsequent second filled with more pleasure than the last. His throat is making all sorts of noises without his permission, but Mustang does nothing to quiet him, so at least that answers his first question.

Ed comes on a sob, and his climax feels like an earthquake, everything shaking and crumbling to pieces inside him. He can feel himself clenching _hard_ around Mustang’s knot, which simply refuses to give, and it’s possibly the single thing in his body that isn’t quaking. Around it, he feels like waves crashing against a rocky shore, breaking apart with every swell, and then receding and surging forward again, beating against a merciless shoreline with his entire body.

Mustang releases his cock and instead presses his hands into Ed’s hips, and bites down on the curve of Ed’s shoulder, muffling a growl into his skin. Ed is too breathless to make a sound, even more so when he feels Mustang blooming inside him, like a miniature explosion. The thought makes Ed shudder, though he’s not entirely sure that what he’s feeling can be classified as disgust. When Roy releases his teeth, he leaves a mark on Ed’s skin, and it feels like a brand. Ed wants to touch it, even though he doesn’t know why.

“Breathe,” Mustang whispers hoarsely, stroking his chest and stomach with flat palms, “ _breathe_ , little omega, don’t pass out yet.” Only then does Ed realise that he’s _not_ breathing, that he’s been holding his breath for so long that when he does manage to inhale, his lungs hurt from the rush of cold air. “There,” Mustang says, wrapping his arms around Ed and drawing him to lean backwards against his own chest, tilting Ed’s head back against his own shoulder. “I told you I’d take care of you,” he says, pressing a kiss to Ed’s cheek, before gripping his chin and pressing their lips together.

It’s Ed’s first kiss, and although he’s not one for romance, he’d been hoping… well. It doesn’t matter what he’d been hoping. There’s nothing left for him now, except the searing press of Mustang’s lips against his, and the cooling pool of his come spilled across his own thighs, and the heat of Mustang’s body behind him. His ass throbs and cramps but the knot doesn’t give at all.

“I’ll admit,” Mustang says when he pulls away, “I’m glad you chose the bed. Do you know why?” Ed doesn’t, but Mustang doesn’t seem to care. “I’ve got more supplies in this room than I do in the kitchen. I rarely expect to entertain downstairs,” he says, laughing like it’s some sort of inside joke. Mustang drags his mouth down to Ed’s neck again, and Ed’s shudder is almost involuntary. “I also confess, seeing you in this room is something of a fantasy of mine. I never thought I could have this, so I have to thank you, Edward.”

“I don’t want this,” Ed rasps, throat sore like he’s been shouting, and maybe he has, he’s not sure. “Don’t thank me, _bastard_ , I don’t _want_ this!”

 _Damn this! Damn strategy! And damn_ Mustang _most of all!_

Ed starts to struggle again, even though his attempts are pathetic. He can’t get any leverage in this position, and even if he could, he doesn’t know how he’s going to get off Mustang’s knot. Not to mention, every move tugs at the knot until his entire body is squirming from the sensation of it, balanced on the knife-edge between pain and… something else.

Mustang heaves a sigh, like _Ed’s_ the one being unreasonable, and then he pushes Ed forward onto his knees, following through with his own body weight until Ed’s pinned beneath him. His ass is so sensitive that he thinks he could cry. “I should’ve known you were going to be exhausting,” Mustang sighs again, and Ed snarls.

“ _Fuck you_ ,” he swears, struggling to get up even though he knows it’s futile. He’s forced to still when Mustang’s hand wraps around his cock and squeezes, ever so slightly; a threat.

“I _am_ fucking you,” Mustang says, nosing at the nape of Ed’s neck, and starting to stroke him again. Despite everything, despite _everything,_ it feels unfairly good, like now the pleasure is overwhelming all the miscellaneous aches and pains, sparking hot at the base of his spine and behind his eyes. Ed chokes on a moan, desperate to keep it to himself, anything to deprive Mustang of the knowledge that this is more pleasure than Ed's ever experienced in his entire life.

Mustang seems to know it anyway because he laughs, and for the first time he sounds breathless, the same way Ed feels. Ed wants to be away from here; he wants to be _anywhere_ but here. He wants to be a suit of armour for the rest of his life, so he never has to feel like this ever again.

"See?" he says, jerking Ed off at a steady pace. "I told you, you're built for this. You're allowed to enjoy it, you know?" And Ed sobs because no, he isn't. He doesn't want to enjoy this. He hates that his heart is beating in time with the pace of Mustang's hand, the pulse of his cock inside Ed's ass.

It doesn't take long for Ed to spill all over Mustang's hand, as sensitive as he is, but when Mustang keeps stroking him, Ed feels tears prickling at his eyes, a stabbing pain starting in his gut. He can't suppress the sobs anymore, especially when he finds himself pushing backwards, further onto Mustang's cock, just to get away from his hand. Mustang is spilling copiously inside him, and he can feel the intermittent bursts of fluid inside him. Surely he’s full by now? Surely there’s no more space for Mustang? Ed bites his wrist to keep from screaming.

"Shh, darling, shh, I know it hurts, but you have to come before I can come, and I have to come if you ever want my knot to go down. You understand that, don't you?" How _dare_ Mustang try to sound reasonable? How _dare_ he put this on Ed’s shoulders?

Ed feels his climax building against his will, painful in its intensity, something threatening to burst inside him. "Stop," he gasps, but Mustang doesn't stop. "Please!" he begs, past all shame.

Mustang keeps going, an iron will against Ed's wavering strength, and when he comes, he curls into himself, from his fisted hands to his twisting toes, to his ass that's convulsing around the knot, trying to shut himself down because he can’t - he’s not capable - _no more_. He’s dripping with sweat and twitching like he’s been electrocuted. He feels shattered.

Behind him, Mustang moans low, and his fingers squeeze around Ed's cock, making him spasm. Ed feels like he's dying, like his heart's going to give out.

Mustang's hands leave his cock and move to his stomach, which is cramping like he drank too much cold water. "Can you feel me inside you?" he asks, palpating Ed's belly softly.

"Yes," he whispers back. "Fuck, I can feel you inside me, _bastard_." Mustang shivers and holds him close, kissing his neck in response, like Ed just used a pet name. Mustang keeps touching his stomach until Ed feels a whine crawl out of his throat, and he lets it out. There’s no getting around this, no escape. “Can we stop now? For a while?” he asks, hating the words even as he says them. He needs a break. He can’t - he’s exhausted and his vision is swimming.

Mustang sighs and sounds genuinely regretful. “Unfortunately, I’m not done yet. Don’t worry though. You can go to sleep. I’ll wake you, when you’re needed.”

Ed closes his eyes and waits for it to end. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you've enjoyed the fine print on my one-way ticket to hell. Anyone looking for a roommate down there?
> 
> I considered writing an omake from Roy's POV once he comes back to himself, but apart from a painful visual of Ed flinching when Roy tries to help him stand up, I decided I've had enough of this verse. Also I'm running out of holy water.
> 
> As always, thank you to the amazing people who cheerled (cheerleaded? cheered?) me through this fic and egged me on when I began to doubt myself; [Kotosk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iginita/pseuds/kotosk) and [shipallthebooty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipallthebooty/pseuds/shipallthebooty) who both enabled me and gave me the feedback and support I needed to finish this; and [Rie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riewa/profile), who propped me up even though this isn't her cup of tea - ilu guys <3


End file.
